Hey, it's been a while. I came to talk to you today, since I decided what I'm going to do next. My Crime Coefficient went up to 140. There's no longer a chance for recovery. But it's not in my nature to sit around and mope in the isolation facility. So I decided to go back to where I used to work. You told me to take a different path. Guess I didn't live up to your expectations. I'm a bad son in every respect, aren't I? But strangely enough, I have no regrets. There's nothing good about being a detective. Even so, it's a job that someone needs to do. Right, dad?